Anarchy in the UK
by Megan Lo Saurus
Summary: Based off England's reaction to the London riots, and how France tries to cheer him up. Features the Sex Pistols and pre-FrUK fluff.


A/N - So this is a fic I wrote about the recent riots in London. I do live in London, so hopefully it won't be completely inaccurate, but my area was not one of the massively affected areas, like Tottenham. (England's opinion that the looters are twats is my own; sorry if this offends anyone.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>When Prussia had told him that there were riots in London, France had felt a petty sense of happiness.<p>

His mind had immediately gone to the numerous occasions when England had gleefully pointed out that whatever France could say about their respective capitals, Paris was the one with malcontent citizens.

Unfortunately, England had a point. London had its riots, but Paris had more. And while France refused to believe that this was a reflection on the city itself, it was nonetheless a sore point. London in uproar was too good a chance to miss.

It was high time for some gloating.

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><p>Visiting England never did go quite as planned, France reflected. In the past, he would cross the channel on a whim and end up with a war on his hands; more recently he'd end up having to desperately flee England's terrible cooking.<p>

This time, he'd somehow ended up not preening and crowing over Paris' incontrovertible superiority, but _comforting_ his rival.

He'd arrived at England's south-London flat to find the other nation sitting dully on a chair, eyes fixed on the TV and the images of his city burning. The untouched mug of cold tea at his side was evidence of his state of mind - England was obviously shaken up, and there was a difference between teasing and cruelty.

So instead of gloating, France had sat down next to him and they'd watched until the programme finished. Then there had been an overlong silence during which France shuffled awkwardly and wondered whether or not to leave, until England had finally said, "Why are you here?"

_"Mon cher,_ is it not obvious? I am here because…" Trailing off under the weight of a green-eyed glare, France decided to tell the truth. "I had planned on gloating, but now I'm not sure."

"Oh," England said, and the silence returned. He took a sip of tea and then looked at France with an expression of utter horror and outrage, as if France had somehow managed to cool it down to spite him.

France took the mug and hurried into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot.

When he returned with the tea, England was staring out of the window. France walked over to stand beside him and saw he was looking at several policemen.

England's green eyes snapped up to meet France's. "They didn't really affect us, here."

"What?" France said stupidly.

"The riots." England waved a hand vaguely. "Didn't affect this area so much. By the time the looters got here they'd got the cops out in force. It wasn't so bad; just a couple of broken shop fronts. Nothing like Tottenham."

"Oh," France said. He wasn't intentionally being laconic but this was unfamiliar territory and he wasn't sure how to behave. Arguing with England was easy; he could do it for hours. But a normal conversation threw him.

England took his tea and examined it subtly, as if trying to work out if it was safe to drink without being overtly rude.

_"Angleterre,_ if I had wished to poison you I would have done it a long time ago." He smirked to see England blush and glare balefully at him before taking a deliberate gulp.

His angry expression quickly faded into pleased surprise. "Darjeeling?"

"First flush. We have hated each other long enough for me to learn how you like your tea."

"Thank you," England said, taking another sip.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did it all start? When I got back this morning, I hadn't heard about it. Gil was the one who told me what was happening, and he didn't give much detail. He just said there were riots that had started somewhere called…Totten-ham and spread through London."

England tried to stifle a laugh and failed. "Tottenham, not Totten-ham. You're saying it funny. You don't really pronounce the 'e', the 'h', or the 'a'. It's Tottenham."

France glared at him. "Name one place in France that you can pronounce right. You can't even speak French!"

"Don't, not can't. That twat, William of Normandy, forced me to learn your stupid language. It may be medieval, but it's still French."

Of course, he'd forgotten about that. He sniffed in a way that he hoped would convey the fact that he was scathing of England's 'French' and went on. "Besides, it was Gil's fault. He mispronounced it when he was telling me about it."

"Alright then," England said soothingly. "So what did you want to know?"

"How did it start?"

England scowled. "There were some people protesting because a man was shot by the police. Then some twats decided to take advantage of the situation and started looting, and the cops stood by and let them because of the purported political nature. From there, it escalated."

"The police _let them?"_

England nodded. "That's why it got so bad, and why we didn't have trouble here. We had enough cops around to dissuade the looters, but in some other places they didn't, or they weren't taking any action to stop it."

He sat down and glared into the distance. "I just don't get why my people would do something like this to their own city, their _home_."

The younger nation was starting to look morose, and France definitely did not want a depressed England on his hands. A sudden inspiration hit him. Music always seemed to cheer England up. "Do you want me to put on some music?"

England nodded and pointed to a huge CD player, surrounded with precarious towers of CDs.

"What do you want?"

"Anything," England replied.

That made things difficult. From what France could see, England's CDs consisted mainly of Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, and the Rolling Stones - and France had never really liked any of those artists.

He selected a CD at random and came up with a bright yellow album cover which proudly proclaimed, 'Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols'.

Sex Pistols… France had never heard of them, but the name was promising. He pushed the CD in and pressed play.

Immediately, the noise of a guitar pounded out. France winced slightly - was England deaf? Why would anyone put their music on so loud? More to the point, why would anyone put on this sort of music at all? But it seemed the sort of thing England would like, and he turned back in satisfaction.

England looked unexpectedly shaken, turning to look at France in disbelief. Puzzled, France looked back at the CD player. He suddenly made out some of the lyrics; 'Don't know what I want but I know how to get it,/ I wanna destroy the passer by,/Cause I wanna be anarchy.'

France scrabbled for the album cover and turned to its track listing. Number one was a track called Anarchy In the U.K.

Horrified, he stabbed at the power button. The silence returned with a vengeance, and he turned awkwardly to England, who was still staring at him incredulously.

France ran a hand through his hair, tugging nervously at the golden strands.

England burst out laughing.

Not sure whether to be offended or relieved, France settled for mustering up his dignity and perching on the sofa next to England until the other country could control himself.

"You're… a ponce, France, but… thanks." England said around laughter.

France pushed his head lightly as punishment for the insult, but he didn't really mind. He was glad to see that England was happy, even if it was at France's own expense.

England may have been his rival, but he was also his friend.

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><p>Yup, I realise that Anarchy in the U.K. is track 2, but I'm taking the liberty for the sake of fanfic logic :)<p>

Anyways, hope it wasn't too bad for a first fic! Feel free to review and tell me what you thought. Thanks for reading!


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